


Get you drunk and let you cry

by NammiKisulora



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon-Typical Pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Isn't it?, Jon gets a designated Mope Over Martin Night, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner Friendship, because that's what friends do, so Daisy gets him drunk and lets him cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NammiKisulora/pseuds/NammiKisulora
Summary: “Alright”, Daisy says and places a clinking bag on the desk. “Here’s the plan: we will find out just how far your new super constitution can stand against cheap whiskey, and for this one night, you are allowed uninhibited moping. Tomorrow we’ll start figuring out what to actually do about it. Sound good?”Daisy gets Jon drunk to let him have a serious moping session about Martin and the general hell their post-Unknowing lives are.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	Get you drunk and let you cry

**Author's Note:**

> CW drunken vomiting.

“Alright”, Daisy says and places a clinking bag on the desk. “Here’s the plan: we will find out just how far your new super constitution can stand against cheap whiskey, and for this one night, you are allowed uninhibited moping. Tomorrow we’ll start figuring out what to actually _do_ about it. Sound good?”

“Uh… what?” Jon blinks as Daisy settles on his desk, bracing one foot on the armrest of his chair and effectively blocking the papers he was studying.

“I will get you drunk and let you cry all you want for once without complaining about it. Alright?”

“… right.”

“Good.” She unscrews the corks of two bottles, handing Jon one of them. Then she takes a healthy swig and motions for him to do the same. Jon sniffs at the whiskey with a grimace. He’s never been a big drinker, and cheap scotch has never appealed to him in the slightest. Why not, though? Maybe it won’t even affect him at all, at his point. _It could be an interesting experiment_ , he thinks as he downs the first mouthful, the burning in his throat making his eyes tear. Daisy grins and nudges him lightly. “Good boy.”

It turns out that alcohol can still affect him, it just takes a lot more than it used to. But when two and a half bottles worth of whiskey hits all at once, they hit him _hard_. He reels to the side, the floor they’ve migrated to suddenly tilting at a frankly alarming angle, and it’s sheer luck Daisy catches him before he pitches over in the other direction. He blinks and tries to remember what he was talking about. It was about Martin, he knows that much. Oh, right!

“He gave me worm ashes once, Jane Prentisses'”, he says. “Still got ‘em in my desk drawer. I thought they weren’t real at first, but they helped ‘nyway but they _were_ real and that’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me.” He sniffs and rests his head on Daisy’s shoulder. It’s sharp and bony, her wiry strength lost to months buried in the Coffin. “I don’ think’ve ever thanked ‘im probler- proplerl- _pro-per-ly_.” He sighs, the lump in his throat suddenly back. “’N now he wouldn’t wanna hear it…”

Daisy wraps her arm around him and pats him on the shoulder, but doesn’t say anything. There isn’t really anything to be said, he supposes. This hellish mess their lives have become… it is what it is, and Martin has decided he needs to do it alone.

“None of the tea tastes right any more”, Jon mumbles. “I drink coffee now even though I hate it, I can’ stand the tas’e, but’s still better’n tea that isn’t right. I miss ‘im, Daisy, I was _horrible_ to him but he was always kind and _there_ and now it’s too late an’ I won’t ever get to tell him thank you for –” He sniffs again, the lump in his throat choking the words, “ – anything.”

The whiskey sloshes uneasily inside of him and the floor is rocking gently. He closes his eyes, squeezing Daisy’s arm in an attempt to ground himself as he breathes deeply.

“I miss ‘im”, he mutters again, swallowing. “’E was always _there_ until he – until he wasn’t an’ I think – I think I – _oh_ –“

Either Daisy’s reflexes are intact from before the Coffin, or maybe she was just paying very close attention to Jon, her own whiskey bottle sitting abandoned since the first encouraging swigs. She snatches up the bin and plops it front of him with a clang, holding back his hair with practised hands as he retches and sobs, whiskey, grief and regret pouring out of him in equal measure.

Of course that is the moment Basira chooses to appear in the doorway, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Ew, monster goo?” she greets them as Jon gags again. Daisy rubs his back and squints at Basira.

“Nah, just drunk. I told him he could have one serious moping session before he has to pull himself together; he’s doing great so far.”

“… right.”

“Come on, you’ve done this with freshly sectioned officers too.”

“Hmm. Well, do you need any, uh… help?”

Daisy takes an appraising look at Jon, who is down to dry heaving and sniffling into the bin, trembling like a leaf.

“Fetch him a glass of water?”

“Sure.”

Jon manages to wash out his mouth and take a few careful sips before slumping against Daisy, his head lolling limply against her shoulder.

“Hey, time for bed”, she says, shaking him slightly. “As much as I’ve been trying to do my exercises I can’t carry you quite yet.”

“Mmfhm”, Jon mutters, rubbing his face against her sweater. “’m comf’rtable ‘ere.”

“Well, I’m not. Come on.” She helps him to his feet, catching him as he stumbles and narrowly saves him from nosediving into the desk. He collapses onto the cot in a boneless heap and doesn’t protest when she pulls the blanket over him. “Go to sleep, Jon. You’ll feel like crap in the morning.” She’s halfway to her feet when Jon’s hand shoots out to grab her wrist.

“Stay”, he whispers. “Please.”

Daisy sits back down and gently pries his fingers off her. “Okay. Just give me a minute.”

She’s almost certain Jon will be asleep when she returns, the bin taken care of and another glass of water filled and ready for when he wakes in the morning, but he isn’t. He’s lying rigidly on his side, with his eyes wide open and his hands clenched into tight fists. He lets out a breath he must have been holding when he sees her in the doorway, and his entire body goes slack with relief when she shoves his legs out of the way to sit down on the lower half of the cot. He stretches like a drunken cat, flinging his legs over hers as he flops over onto his stomach.

“Don' wanna be ‘lone”, he mumbles. Daisy just pats his calf and pulls out her phone to find continue her attempt to catch up on eight months of The Archers. Once again she thinks Jon must’ve fallen asleep when he stirs. “Speakers?” She smiles and unplugs her headphones. The phone’s tinny speakers aren’t doing the show any favours, but what the hell.

“I knew you’d come around to them.”

**Author's Note:**

> This might be the first part of an unchronological oneshot cycle about Jon and Daisy. Maybe?


End file.
